Reflections
by N'kala
Summary: When Joe comes down with a serious case of pneumonia, his family and friends take the time to reflect on what they know about the youngest Hardy.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Reflections  
Author: N'kala  
Disclaimer: The Hardy Boys and their friends do not belong to me. Unfortunately. :)  
Summary: When Joe comes down with a serious case of pneumonia, his family and friends reflect on what they know about the youngest Hardy.  
Author's Notes: My first foray into this fandom that actually ended up being completed. I twisted some of the characteristics a bit, taken some liberties. I don't like how some of the books portray Joe, so these differences are a little out of canon. Be warned! 

**Reflections **  
By: N'kala

**Chapter One**

A sharp buzzing sound pierced the air, causing eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy to jerk in surprise and hit the snooze alarm more forcefully than he had intended. Moaning lightly, he threw aside his covers and stood.

It only took Frank twenty minutes to shower, dress, and collect his things for the day. It was Friday, and the last day of school before Christmas break. Frank was looking forward to two solid weeks free of studying and classes.

Moving into his younger brother's room, Frank grinned at the lump he saw on his brother's bed.

"C'mon, little brother," he called, gently shaking the lump. "Up and at 'em. You don't want to be late for school, do ya?"

The blankets fell away. Frank's smile fell when he saw Joe's blue eyes, made bright by what was undoubtedly a fever. Instantly his hand flew to Joe's forehead.

"You're burning up!" he exclaimed. "Hang on- let me get the thermometer."

As Frank hurried into the bathroom they shared, Joe fought with his blankets to sit up.

"Take it easy, Frank," he rasped, wincing as he spoke through a sore throat. "It's just a cold."

"Don't talk," Frank ordered as he popped a thermometer into Joe's mouth. He lifted Joe's wrist and stared at his watch. "Pulse is a little fast, and . . ." The thermometer beeped. Frank took it out and glanced at the LED display. "You've got a temperature of 101. Looks like you'll be missing school today."

Joe scowled. "I missed too much already this year. I hope I don't end up repeating my junior year."

"Don't worry, little brother," Frank told him. "I'll bring home some work for you."

Joe made a face. "Gee, thanks, Frank."

Frank laughed and ruffled Joe's blond hair. "I'll tell Mom and Dad what's going on. You try and go back to sleep."

After making sure Joe was comfortable, Frank grabbed his backpack and keys and headed for the kitchen.

Fenton Hardy was browning toast and sipping coffee while Laura stood at the stove, making scrambled eggs. Both looked up at Frank's entrance and exchanged warm greetings.

"Where's your brother?" Fenton asked.

"In bed with a fever," Frank replied. "I don't think he'll make it to school today."

"The poor dear," Laura commiserated. "I wonder if it's the flu? I hear it's going around. I should go check on him."

Fenton handed Frank a plate of food. "Allow me. I'll be back in a few."

Frank sat at the kitchen table and dug hungrily into his breakfast. Laura joined him, smiling fondly at her eldest son.

"Do you have any plans for your break?" she asked.

Frank shrugged. "Not really. Except for finishing our Christmas shopping, Joe and I thought it might be good to take it easy."

"Now that sounds like a good idea," Laura agreed. "What with you two boys and Fenton running off to the four corners of the globe, I've been waiting for signs of a burnout. Despite what you three may believe, you are still human."

Frank grinned as he finished his breakfast. "That may be true, but don't tell Joe that. You'll shatter his whole self-image."

Laura laughed as Frank cleaned his plate. The teen gathered his coat and backpack and, giving his mother a kiss, hurried out the door.

* * *

Frank was at his locker, hunting for the books he would need for the next two periods, when Callie Shaw and Vanessa Bender approached him.

Frank kissed Callie and smiled at Vanessa. "Hey, girls. Glad it's the last day?"

"Of course," Callie replied.

"Where's Joe?" Vanessa asked, her blue-gray eyes searching Frank's face. "He wasn't at his locker."

"He's home sick today," Frank told her.

Vanessa's brow wrinkled in concern. "I hope it's not the flu. Mom had that a couple weeks ago, and it was brutal."

Frank closed his locker and zipped up his backpack. "Yeah, I don't think Joe will be too happy if he misses half his break to this thing. Why don't you stop by later and see him? That'll cheer him up."

"I think I will," Vanessa replied. "Oh, I've got to run. I'll see you guys later."

Frank and Callie called farewells to her retreating back, then headed on to their first class of the day.

* * *

Fenton walked up behind his wife and wrapped her in his arms. Laura paused in stirring the soup she was making and smiled up at him.

"Smells good," Fenton commented, giving Laura a quick kiss. "How's Joe doing?"

"Still running a fever," Laura replied, doling some soup into a bowl she had set on a bed tray. "I'm hoping he'll have an appetite."

"I'm going to get ready for my meeting," Fenton told her. "It should only take an hour. You'll call me if you need me?"

"I always do." Laura kissed him again, then grabbed the tray and followed him upstairs. Fenton disappeared into their bedroom while Laura entered her youngest son's room.

Joe was asleep, wrapped tightly in blankets. Laura set the bed tray on Joe's cluttered desk, then sat on the bed beside him.

"Joe?" she called softly. "Sweetheart? Are you hungry? I made you some soup. Joe?"

Joe didn't respond. Laura frowned; something wasn't right. Her blue eyes took in Joe's flushed cheeks. "Joe? Joseph! Wake up!"

Laura reached up to touch Joe's cheek, but the heat leaping from his skin caused her to jerk her hand back sharply. Something was very wrong.

"Joe?" Laura shook Joe's shoulder. When he continued to lay silent, Lara's head whipped to the door. "Fenton! Fenton, get in here! Something's wrong with Joe!"

A door in the hall banged open, and Fenton rushed into the room. His dress shirt was unbuttoned over his jeans, and his tie hung loose around his neck. Laura stood and moved aside, allowing Fenton to take her place.

"Joe?" Fenton took Joe's face into his hands. "Joe, can you hear me?"

Laura seized Joe's phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Fenton nodded absently, his brown eyes focused intently on Joe. He took note of his child's short, gasping breaths and raging fever.

"Hang in there, Baby," he whispered. "Please be okay."

* * *

A cheer rose up at the final bell of the day. Frank grinned broadly and slapped a high-five with Phil Cohen in the seat beside him.

"Hallelujah, I thought Christmas break would never get here!" Tony Prito crowed, approaching them. "Who wants to go celebrate?"

"Can't," Frank declined. "I want to check up on Joe. And I gotta take him his work."

"So? We'll all go," Phil said. "We can all help cheer him up."

The boys chatted as they walked down the hall to their lockers. Chet Morton, Biff Hooper, Callie, and Vanessa soon joined them. Biff leaned against the locker beside Frank, a concerned frown on his face.

"Frank, how's Joe?" he asked.

Frank shrugged. "Fine, as far as I know. Just a cold."

Confusion flashed across Biff's face. "I just got off the phone with my mom to let her know I wasn't coming straight home. She said she saw an ambulance outside your house this afternoon."

A cold wind blew through Frank. "What?"

The other teens grew silent as they listened to Biff. "She was on her way home from the store, and she saw some medics go into your house. You didn't know?"

Frank's phone was already out, and he was punching in his home number with shaky fingers. He ran an impatient hand through his brown hair, his face ashen. When no one answered, he severed the connection savagely. "No one's there!"

"Try your voicemail," Callie suggested. "Maybe your parents left you a message."

Frank quickly complied, and was rewarded with the sound of his father's strained voice.

"Frank . . . it's your brother . . . his fever spiked this afternoon, and he wouldn't wake up . . . the doctor hasn't spoken to us yet, but . . . when you're done with school, come to Bayport Memorial, fourth floor."

Frank met his friends' worried gazes. "They took Joe to the hospital . . . oh God, it's worse than I thought! But it was just a fever!"

"Frank, get a hold of yourself!" Chet said forcefully. "It's not your fault! There's nothing you could have done!"

"Right now, let's just get over to the hospital and see how Joe's doing," Phil stated. "Who knows? Joe could've gotten better since this afternoon."

"Good idea," Biff said, plucking Frank's van keys from his hand. "I'll drive."

Frank was too distraught to argue. He allowed himself to be led from the school to his van, and he climbed into the passenger seat. Phil and Biff got in as well.

The trip to the hospital took only ten minutes, but to Frank it seemed like an eternity. Biff pulled into a parking spot and shut off the engine. Tony and Chet came to a stop on one side, and the girls on the other. As a group, they made their way into the building.

Laura Hardy was in the waiting room speaking with a nurse when the teens arrived. Frank immediately went to her and accepted her hug while his friends hung back anxiously.

"Mom?" Frank asked. "What's going on? How's Joe?"

"Oh, honey," Laura said, her eyes swimming with tears. "Your brother's in ICU. He has pneumonia. He had some trouble breathing, and his fever got so high that he went into seizures."

Several gasps filled the air.

"Can I see him?" Frank asked.

Laura nodded. "Your father's with him now. They're only allowing one person at a time. I'll take you there."

Frank turned back to his friends. "Guys, you should go home. There's nothing to do, really, but wait, and-."

Tony held up his hands. "I've got nowhere else to be."

"Neither do I," Chet agreed.

"I can't ask you guys to stay . . ." Frank tried.

"You don't have to," Biff told him. "Joe's our friend. He'd be here for any one of us."

Frank gave them all a grateful smile, then followed his mother down the hall.

The rest of the teens sank into chairs. "God, this seems so unreal," Phil commented.

"How do you mean?" Callie asked.

"Think about it," Phil said. "Frank and Joe go through so much. It's like the world's biggest irony that a simple virus is doing more than any criminal ever did."

"Joe's going to be fine," Vanessa insisted. "He has to be."

"Hey, remember the last time Joe got really sick?" Tony asked suddenly.

"Yeah, he was down for a week," Biff replied. "We were all worried he would end up here."

"I remember," Chet spoke up. "I stayed over at his place during the whole thing. There were some tense moments."

"What happened?" Vanessa asked.

"It was . . . it was a month after . . . after Iola died," Chet said. The room became very quiet; Chet rarely spoke of his younger sister. "I had seen Joe around, but he never looked at me. He was there for me and my parents, helping us, but he wouldn't let us help him. I think he felt responsible."

"He just withdrew from everyone," Biff recalled. "He was afraid of someone else getting hurt."

Chet nodded. "His dad was on a case, and Frank was supposed to meet him somewhere to give him some documents. That's when Joe got sick. At first, he refused to be helped by anyone. Mrs. Hardy was at her wit's end until I decided to move in and fill in for Frank. You should've seen Joe's reaction . . ."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Six months ago_

Joe curled up on his side, his body racked with coughs. Tears streamed down his cheeks; it seemed that every gasping breath he drew triggered a fresh wave.

A hand fell on his shoulder and waited patiently for the fit to die down. When Joe finally regained control, he blinked up at the last face he expected to see.

"Chet?" he rasped. "What are you doing here?"

Chet handed him a glass of water. "You've been pretty sick the last couple of days, and your mom looked like she could use some help, so here I am."

Joe's face clouded over, and he set the untouched glass on his bedside table. "I'm fine. I don't need anyone to look after me."

Chet shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm staying across the hall in the guest bedroom till you beat this thing, so holler if you need me."

And with that, he turned and left Joe gaping after him.

* * *

"Chet, I really appreciate your help, but it's not necessary."

The teen smiled at Laura Hardy. "It's okay, Mrs. Hardy. I don't mind. You just relax."

"How's it going with Joe?" Laura asked. "Is he getting any better?"

"Well, I think I'm making progress," Chet told her as he fixed lunch for everyone. "He's stopped yelling at me to go away, and is just ignoring me. Biff's coming over in about an hour, and we're going to see if we can draw Joe into a game of cards or something."

Laura sighed. "I really am sorry, Chet. I wish I knew why Joe's been behaving so poorly lately. It just seems the more I push, the more he fights back. Even Frank can't get through to him."

Chet paused and laid a reassuring hand on Laura's shoulder. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hardy. We'll bring the old Joe back."

Laura smiled sadly and excused herself. Chet was just passing the front door and heading upstairs when the doorbell rang.

Biff Hooper stood on the other side, holding a plate of brownies. "Hey, Chet."

"I thought you weren't coming until one," Chet replied, letting his friend inside.

"Yeah, well, Mom overheard and insisted I take some brownies over here right now," Biff told him as they made their way upstairs. "How's Joe?"

"See for yourself." Chet knocked on Joe's door, then opened it and walked inside. Joe, as he had expected, had his back to the door and made no move to acknowledge his friend.

"Lunchtime," Chet announced cheerfully. "And Mrs. Hooper made brownies for dessert. I hope you're hungry. I slaved over these sandwiches for at least twenty minutes."

Joe didn't move.

Biff frowned and leaned over to Chet. "What's wrong with him?"

Chet shook his head as he set the tray of food on the floor by Joe's bed, then sat next to it. Biff, at a loss, followed suit.

The two boys ate lunch and chattered aimlessly while Joe continued to lie there. As soon as they had finished, Biff pulled out a deck of cards and he and Chet began to play. After two hours, Joe finally turned to stare at them.

"Don't you two have anything better to do?" he snapped.

Biff was taken aback by the younger boy's abrupt tone. Chet, on the other hand, smiled broadly. "Who, me? Nah, I have the whole week open, and I'm gonna spend it right here."

"What if I don't want you here?" Joe challenged.

Chet shrugged. "You really are in no condition to do anything about it."

Joe's face reddened. "Get out! Get out of my room! I don't want anything to do with you! _Just go_!"

Chet leaned very close to Joe, pausing an inch away. "Make me."

Joe recoiled as if slapped.

Chet leaned back again and laid down a card. "Can't get rid of me, Joe. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Joe's blue eyes were wide with shock. They slipped over to Biff's equally stunned face, then back to Chet. Gathering up what indignance he could, he said, "You should. Don't _you_, of all people, know? Hanging out with me could be fatal."

All movement stopped. Hardly a breath was drawn for a full minute.

Finally, Chet looked up at Joe. "Are you telling me . . . that you feel responsible for what happened to Iola?"

"No." A pause. "I _am_ responsible."

Biff found his voice. "Joe-."

"So why don't you two take a lesson and get lost before I kill you, too?" Joe yelled.

Chet sat on the bed next to Joe. "Now you listen to me," he ordered, tears swimming in his eyes. "What happened to my sister was . . . it was a terrible thing. It's going to take me a long, long time before I can feel anything close to all right, but I've talked about it, and because of some good friends, I'm coming to terms with it."

Tears slipped silently down Joe's cheeks. He turned his head in shame, not wanting to see Chet's eyes. He was surprised when Chet forced him to look back at him.

"I do not hold you responsible for Iola's death," Chet continued. "No one does. The only one to blame is the man who set the bomb, and he's dead now. So you need to quit wallowing in self-pity and let us help you. You were there for me, Joe. Let me be there for you."

Joe was shaking his head. "But . . . if Iola hadn't gone out with me . . . if she hadn't . . . hadn't been there . . . she'd still be alive."

"Joe, you can't wonder about that," Biff spoke up. "It was a terrible tragedy, but it happened. You can't go back and fix it. You can only go forward. Let us help you."

The younger boy broke down into heavy sobs. Chet pulled him into a tight hug, and the two boys mourned together over the loss of a young girl.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Present_

Callie and Vanessa were crying openly, as were Chet and Biff. Tony's eyes were suspiciously bright, and Phil lifted his glasses to rub his eyes.

"I remember I got my stuff, and the three of us camped out the rest of that week in Joe's room," Biff said.

"He got a lot better after that, but a part of him still felt responsible," Chet told his audience.

A thoughtful silence filled the air for several moments. Unnoticed, Fenton and Laura crept up to the group. Fenton cleared his throat.

"Thank you all for being here," he said. His expression was weary. "It's good to know the boys have such good friends."

"How's Joe?" Vanessa asked.

"The doctor said he's resting comfortably, but he still hasn't woken up," Laura said. "Frank wanted some time with him."

"Don't worry," Tony said. "He'll pull through just fine. Joe's a fighter."

Biff snorted, despite himself. "And how. In fact, that's one of the reasons I became friends with him."

"What, because he can fight?" Callie asked.

Biff shook his head. "No, because he won't back down from one. Or be bullied."

"How did you guys meet, anyway?" Phil asked.

Biff thought for a moment. "It was . . . God, it was over ten years ago. I was seven, so Joe was six. Even though we only lived a couple houses apart, we never really played together."

"Wait," Tony broke in. "I think some of this is coming back to me. Does this have to do with Kevin Dawson?"

Realization flickered across Chet's face at Biff's nod.

"Yep," Biff replied. "Phil, you and Callie went to a different school, so you probably never heard of him. Long story short, Kevin was a fifth grader, and the biggest bully you ever saw. He picked on a lot of kids, but he had favorites. Joe was one of them."

"What about Frank?" Callie asked. "I can't believe he never tried to protect Joe."

"Well, Kevin tried to take them both on, but he learned pretty quick that you don't mess with them as a team," Biff stated. "Frank knew, I think, that Kevin still harassed Joe, and did his best to look out for him. But, well, he couldn't be there all the time . . ."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Eleven years ago_

"Where's my lunch money, Spaz? I gotta eat."

"So shake down your mom for money and leave me alone!"

Defiant blue eyes glared up at the threatening brown ones. Joe knew full well how much older and bigger Kevin was, but he was not going to give up his money without a fight.

Kevin gripped the front of Joe's shirt and hauled him up into the air until they were nose-to-nose. "You got some kind of death wish?"

Joe grinned cheekily. "You don't got the balls to do anything to me."

And with that, he swung his foot and connected solidly with Kevin's groin. Kevin cried out and, releasing Joe, fell to his knees clutching his injury.

Joe picked himself up from where he had fallen and smiled sweetly. "Or, at least, you don't anymore."

Kevin glared at him. "You'll pay for that, Runt!"

"Still picking on first graders, Kevin? Why don't you grow up?"

Both boys turned to see a seven-year-old blond boy walk up to them with another fifth grader. The two younger boys eyed each other coolly.

"Blow off, Biff," Kevin snarled at the fifth grader. He turned his gaze to Joe. "This ain't over. When you least expect it, I'll be there."

He limped off, much to Joe's amusement. He turned to face the newcomers.

"Hi, I'm Joe Hardy," he announced, holding out his hand.

The older boy took it. "I'm Biff. This is my cousin, Allen. We saw what you did to Kevin. Pretty slick, but watch out. He's going to come back for more."

Joe puffed out his chest and extended his jaw. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Whatever," Biff grinned. "Catch you later."

As he ran off, Joe caught Allen's appraising look. "What?"

Allen shrugged. "You got guts for bein' so small."

Joe scowled at him. "I can take care of myself fine. Why? Looking for a bodyguard?"

Allen snorted. "Yeah, right. Been nice knowin' ya. Kevin's gonna clean the floor with you."

"We'll see," Joe shot back, and he turned and ran for his classroom.

* * *

Recess couldn't come soon enough for Joe. As soon as the bell rang, he shot out of the classroom and was one of the first to reach the playground.

"Gimme your money before I pound your face in!"

Joe whirled around and tensed, waiting for a fight. It took him a full minute to realize that Kevin wasn't talking to him. Against the fence several yards away, the bully had cornered a terrified first-grade boy.

Without stopping to think, Joe ran at top speed at Kevin. Holding out his hands, he ran into the older boy with enough force to knock Kevin to the ground.

The first grader stared at Joe in complete shock, then ran away from the fence.

Kevin surged up off of the ground and dove at Joe. Joe backed up quickly, but his feet tangled up in each other and he fell.

"Why don't you leave everyone alone?" Joe shouted.

Kevin's grin was feral as he yanked Joe to his feet and cocked back a fist. "You're dead meat, twerp."

A foot came flying out of nowhere, hitting Kevin in the shin. Kevin yelped and hopped back, letting go of Joe.

Allen shoved Kevin back further. "Get lost, creep!"

Kevin moved to act, but the playground monitor caught sight of them and was heading their way. The bully made a slashing motion across his throat and left.

Joe and Allen assured the monitor that everything was all right, then retreated to the swings.

"I didn't need your help," Joe told him, crossing his arms. "I coulda handled him."

"He was gonna cream you if I hadn't come along!" Allen exclaimed, incredulous.

"That's my problem, not yours!" Joe shot back. He turned to go find his brother when Allen's hand on his shoulder drew him up short.

"Why did you help that first grader?" he asked. "He doesn't know you, and Kevin never woulda come after you."

Joe gave Allen a look that said he couldn't believe the older boy even had to ask. "'Cause he was gonna hurt him."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Joe ran off. Allen watched him go, lost in thought.

* * *

The rest of the day passed for Joe without incident. Slinging his backpack over one of his shoulders and saying goodbye to a few classmates, Joe headed for the slide, where he would meet up with Frank.

He never made it.

A hand grabbed his arm and swung him into the side of the school, out of sight of teachers and students. Joe's head struck the brick wall, and he slid to the ground, stunned.

A dark figure loomed over Joe. The boy felt himself being jerked back to his feet and held up against the wall. Joe's eyes cleared, and he found himself staring into the predatory gaze of Kevin Dawson.

"Time to take out the trash, Runt," he sneered.

"All right," Joe managed to say through a splitting headache. "But I'm feelin' kinda nice, so I'll give you a chance to apologize, and then we can forget the whole thing."

Kevin's face turned red. "Your mouth's gonna get you in trouble some day."

Joe grimaced. "Yeah, so's yours unless you start brushing your teeth."

With a cry of outrage, Kevin slammed Joe back into the wall, then threw his fist into Joe's face. Joe fell to the ground, unable to defend himself.

Kicks assaulted Joe's body, and he curled up against them. Quickly, anger filled him, and he swung his own foot out. It hooked around Kevin's ankle, and Kevin fell onto his rump with a solid "_oomph_!"

Joe rolled to his knees, clutching his stomach. Though filled with pain, his blue eyes glared at Kevin.

"Had . . . enough?" he gasped.

Kevin yelled and moved to punch Joe again. Joe braced himself for the blow.

A hand caught Kevin's fist inches from Joe's nose. A fist struck Kevin in his eye, and he fell back. Two familiar figures stood between the boys.

"Haven't you had enough, Kevin?" Frank Hardy asked, arms crossed in a stance identical to Allen's.

Kevin glared. "You want some of this?"

"Some of what?" Allen scoffed. "Looks like you're the only one on the receiving end."

Frank took another step forward, looking imposing even for a seven-year-old. "I'm gonna tell you one more time. If you don't leave my brother alone, I'm gonna make your life miserable. Now beat it."

Kevin looked like he was about to argue, but thought better of it. "He's not worth the trouble, anyway," he said, and sulked off.

As soon as he was gone, Frank knelt at Joe's side. "Joe? You okay?"

Joe nodded. "I had him right where I wanted him! How did you know I was in trouble?"

Frank helped him to his feet and nodded at Allen. "Your friend here came and told me what was going on. We decided you could use a little back-up."

"He's Allen," Joe said.

"Yeah," Allen replied. "But, my friends call me Biff."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Present_

"I will never forget the day you three came home, with Joe a mess," Laura commented, smiling fondly at the memory. "I didn't know whether to congratulate you, ground you, or go after that boy myself."

Fenton chuckled. "I remember enrolling the boys in self-defense class. I figured that, if they're going to fight, then they should at least know what they were doing."

"Good thing, too," Tony replied. "I don't know how many times one of them had to pull the other one out of trouble."

A loud growling sound cut into the conversation. All eyes turned to Chet, who shrugged innocently.

"Sorry," Biff spoke up. "Me."

Vanessa giggled. "I guess it's dinnertime. I was so caught up in the stories I completely lost track of time."

"Yeah, I gotta call my folks and tell them where I am," Phil stated.

"You kids should go on home," Laura said. "We don't want you to miss your break."

"If it's all the same to you, we'd rather stay here," Chet told her. "At least here we can be together and wait for word on Joe."

"Tell you what," Tony said. "I'll go to Mr. Pizza and pick up a couple pies for us. That way I can also tell my dad what's going on."

"I'll go with you," Phil volunteered. "I'll call my parents on the way."

The rest of us can call while we wait," Vanessa said, pulling out her cell. "Let's go, guys. No cells in the hospital, remember?"

As a group, the teens moved out of the waiting room to the elevator. Fenton and Laura smiled at one another, wrapped their arms around each other's waists, and left to check on their sons.

Frank looked up from Joe's pale, still face when he heard his parents enter the room. He had been talking to Joe about school and their plans for break, hoping to rouse Hoe from the fever-induced slumber he'd slipped into.

"Any change?" Laura asked hopefully, laying a hand on Joe's brow.

Frank sighed. "None. Is everyone still out there?"

"They went to pick up some dinner and call their parents," Fenton told him, dropping a hand on his son's shoulder. "You should join them. You need to eat."

"But Joe . . ." Frank protested.

"Come on, Frank," Fenton insisted. "Your mom will sit with him for awhile."

Frank relented, and he and his father left the room.

* * *

" . . . so, after this water fight is over, I'm thinking we'll finally get the chance to question this college student. Well, as I'm trying, Joe and a couple other guys are runnin' down the hall and sliding on the wet floor."

Laughter erupted at Frank's story. Frank grinned and helped himself to another slice of pizza. Other patrons in the hospital cafeteria threw them annoyed glances, but none of the teens nor Fenton paid them any mind.

"It's hard enough to get people to look past your age and see your accomplishments," Frank continued. "Joe just acts normal, regardless, and dares anyone not to take him at his word."

"I still can't get over how you two met Nicky Chambers, the Sharks' owner," Chet chuckled. "That was priceless."

"Joe is such a clown sometimes," Vanessa remarked. "But he does know how to make people laugh and feel better."

"Tell me about it," Tony stated.

Biff rapped his knuckles on the table. "Uh-oh! Don I hear a Joe story coming?"

Everyone laughed.

"Seriously," Tony said. "It was about a month ago. I was feeling the pressure from school, and Mr. Pizza was getting busier. Not to mention half the workers called in sick. My life was a living nightmare! To make matters worse, I bit off the head of every single person who tried to cheer me up. Including Joe."

"Wait, just the one time?" Chet kidded.

Tony swatted him on the back of the head playfully.

"So what happened?" Callie asked, taking another bite of her pizza.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_One month ago_

Tony threw his bag into his car, then all but fell into the driver's seat. He buckled up, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Even though it was only Tuesday, the teenager could tell it was going to be a long week. He had a major research paper due in English, a lab experiment in chemistry, two major exams in math and history, and a family history project in his language class. And as if that weren't enough, Tony also had to pull double shifts every night at the pizza place his father owned.

Most of his friends had sensed his sour mood and, after a brief greeting, steered clear of him.

But not Joe. For some reason, Joe had ignored Tony's sharp, clipped responses and dark scowls. It had taken Tony yelling at Joe to back off and leave him alone in front of a large group of teenagers before Joe got the message.

Tony opened his eyes and started his car. Joe had only been trying to help. Maybe he'd apologize to Joe; make it up to him somehow.

But next week. First, he'd have to make it through this one.

The drive to the mall took ten minutes. Sighing wearily, Tony dug out his work shirt from his bag and headed inside.

Mr. Prito was wiping down free tables in the half-filled pizzeria when Tony walked in. "Hi, Dad."

Mr. Prito beamed at his son. "Tony! It's good to see you. How was your day?"

"Fine, Dad," Tony replied.

"Such good friends you have," Mr. Prito went on, leading Tony behind the counter. "That Joseph Hardy. Good boy, that one."

"Joe?" Tony echoed, confused. "What do you mean?"

Just then, Joe walked through the kitchen doors wearing a work shirt and apron. Spying Tony, he grinned. "Hi."

Tony stared, dumbfounded, as Joe refilled napkin dispensers, utensil holders, and condiment containers. He smiled and joked with the customers as he went, and collected trash and trays. With a jaunty wave to Tony, he disappeared back into the kitchen.

"What's Joe doing her?" Tony asked his father.

Mr. Prito shrugged as he began to make another pizza. "He came in about half an hour ago and asked if he could help out till the workers were back on their feet. I offered to pay him, but he wouldn't take it."

A customer arrived at the counter just then. Mr. Prito shooed Tony away to get ready for his shift before going to take the order.

* * *

Tony did not get the chance to talk to Joe for several hours; the pizza shop had quickly picked up in business and it was all he could do to simply keep up. Having Joe there drastically improved his mood, however. On customer had begun to complain about a wrong order when Joe suddenly appeared. A rapid-fire wordplay between the two had left Tony's head spinning, but had shown the customer was trying to squeeze a free meal out of the shop. Joe had slapped Tony on the back and went to help the next person.

At one point, the crowd had gotten overwhelming. People were calling out more orders than the skeleton crew could fill, and were getting impatient. Just as it looked like tempers were about to explode, Joe had jumped onto a table a whistled loudly.

"One slice of pizza to the guy- or girl- that can outdo me!" he yelled. Scooping up a saltshaker, peppershaker, and a parmesan cheese shaker, he began to juggle.

While Joe juggled more and more objects, and the crowd began to cheer him on, the rest of the pizzeria workers were able to fill all of the orders with no difficulties.

Finally, once the last person had left, Joe caught all of the shakers and condiments and hopped down from the table. Setting the containers down, he sank wearily into a chair.

A couple slices of Joe's favorite pizza appeared on the table. Joe looked up quizzically as Tony sat across from him. "What's this for?"

Tony shrugged. "A bet's a bet. No one beat you, so . . ."

"But the bet was only for _one_ slice," Joe pointed out as he picked one up.

"Yeah, well, the other's for what you did tonight," Tony replied. "Why, Joe? And after the way I treated you."

Joe shrugged. "We're friends."

Tony stared at him. "You say that like it's enough."

Blue eyes turned confused. "Isn't it?"

Tony watched Joe polish off the pizza in thoughtful silence, then stood to help him clean the shop for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Present_

"We had a lot of the same classes, so we quizzed each other for tests," Tony finished. "On breaks, we sketched notes and outlines for projects on napkins. If it weren't for Joe, I'd have never made it through those two weeks."

"Wait a minute," Frank cut in. "Didn't Joe come home with pizza sauce in his hair and clothes? All he'd tell me was that he tripped."

"Sort of," Tony grinned. "People came back to watch Joe juggle. They gave him suggestions and stuff. Well, one guy dared him to juggle the ingredients for a pizza. Bet him a whole pie."

"Oh God," Chet groaned through a wide smile.

Tony nodded. "He did pretty good up until the sauce. The lid popped off and spilled all over him and the floor. One step was all it took. He _looked_ like a pizza."

The whole table roared with laughter.

"Did he win?" Callie managed to ask.

"Of course," Tony replied. "The guy was such a good sport, he bought Joe _two_ pizzas."

"No wonder he won't eat any pizza," Frank stated. "After all that, he's probably set for the next year."

Fenton grinned proudly as the teenagers continued to talk. He remembered those two weeks; he had barely seen his youngest boy during that time. The only chance he got was sneaking into Joe's room in the middle of the night, only to find Joe draped over his homework. Each night, Fenton helped his child into bed and tucked him in as he had when Joe was a little boy. Fenton had been, and still was, proud and humbled by Joe's innocent selflessness.

"Still, though," Callie's voice brought Fenton back to the conversation. "Having Joe tutor you? And with all those distractions? What were your grades like?"

"Actually, I did better than I normally do," Tony told her. "Especially in English."

"My sons always put schoolwork first," Fenton supplied. "I insist on that, if they want to work on cases."

"Still, though," Callie persisted. "Frank is more the brains of the team."

"Don't sell Joe short," Phil spoke up in Joe's defense. "He may not be interested in school, but he's a lot smarter than anyone gives him credit for."

"Come on, Phil," Biff said. "We've all see Joe's grades. If he's so smart, why doesn't he get straight A's like you and Frank? I'm not buying it."

"Personally, I think he's bored," Phil replied. "He doesn't feel challenged enough to put forth the effort. But trust me; when he wants to, he can really shine."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Three months ago_

"Phil! Hey, Phil! Wait up!"

Phil paused in the hallway on his way to his next class and turned to find Joe running towards him.

"Yeah, Joe?" Phil asked.

"I need a big favor," Joe said breathlessly; he had run from the other end of the school to find Phil. "See, there's this big test this Friday in my chem class. I'm okay on facts and terminology, but the equations are throwing me for a loop. Can you help me?"

"I don't know," Phil replied. "I've got a killer essay due in English, and I need all the time I can get on it. How come you didn't ask Frank? He's pretty good with chemistry, too."

"He's been studying every waking hour for his history exam," Joe told him. "Please? It'll only be for an hour or so, till I get this stuff down. What do you say?"

"All right," Phil relented. "My house, seven o'clock. Don't forget your book."

"Yes! Thank you, Phil! I owe you one!" Grinning broadly, Joe turned and began to run for his next class.

* * *

" . . . governing the rights of the nationals, yet the symbolic representation-." Phil stopped and scowled, rereading the words on his laptop. "That sounds awful. God, at this rate I'll never get this done."

A soft knock on his bedroom door caused him to turn around. Joe was standing in the doorway, watching him.

"Your mom let me in," he said. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Nah," Phil assured him, gesturing for Joe to sit. "Just that stupid essay I told you about. Now, show me what you don't understand, and we'll go from there."

The two boys went over one equation after another, along with several constants. The hour passed quickly, but to Phil it seemed only like minutes.

"I think we should go over this a little more," Phil stated as Joe was packing up to leave. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Sure, but what about your essay?" Joe asked.

Phil shrugged. "I could use the break. See you in school tomorrow."

* * *

The study sessions continued for two more nights after that. It was apparent to Phil that Joe was making progress, but still needed more work, so the sessions grew to two hours. The two could also be seen at lunchtime going over practice problems that Phil thought up.

Finally, on Thursday night, they hit success. "Joe, I really think you've got it now!" Phil exclaimed as Joe finished a complicated problem. "You'll knock 'em dead on that test tomorrow."

Joe grinned. "I hope so, Phil. I really appreciate everything you did this week for me. I know you had other stuff to do. If you ever need anything, just name it."

"Forget it," Phil said as they stood. "What are friends for?"

"Phil?"

Phil's mother's voice called out again from downstairs. Phil went to his door. "Yeah?"

"Phone call!"

"Be there in a second!" Phil turned back to Joe. "Hey, good luck. See you tomorrow, all right?"

After Joe had gone, Phil went to his desk and picked up his phone. He began to speak when his eyes fell on something sitting on his laptop.

Questions from the tinny voice on the other end of the line fell on deaf ears. It was his essay, printed out and covered in red marks and suggestions. All in Joe's handwriting.

* * *

Mondays were always dreaded by the student population, especially by those expecting a major test or assignment to be returned. Phil, on the other hand, was anxiously awaiting his essay's grade.

Ms. Davis, his English teacher, passed back their papers just as the bell rang. Phil collected his books and went to get his essay. One look at the red letter at the top, and he was speechless. Tucking the essay into his backpack, he left the classroom.

"Phil!"

Joe ran up to him, waving a paper in the air. "I got an A!"

Phil smiled. "Congratulations, Joe! Er . . . so did I."

Joe's grin, if possible, grew even wider. "That's great! Way to go! Let's go celebrate after school, okay?"

With that, he turned and hurried off before Phil could question him about the essay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Present_

"You're telling us that _Joe_ edited your paper, and you got an _A_?" Chet asked, incredulous. "Come on."

"Well, why not?" Vanessa countered. "He's helped me before, too."

"Yeah, but, Phil; aren't you in the senior advanced class?" Biff questioned. "Joe's only in junior college prep with Tony."

Phil sighed. "Look, I confronted Joe about the paper later that day. He made me promise not to tell anyone what he said, but, well . . . it's just too big."

"What is it?" Frank asked.

"Joe's got Ms. Davis, too," Phil stated. "He said she approached him and offered to move him to her junior AP English class."

Everyone's jaw dropped. "_What_?" Fenton exclaimed.

"Look, you never heard this from me," Phil insisted. "Joe said that Ms. Davis kept trying to convince him to join, short of calling in his parents. Joe's got a lot of potential; I guess she didn't want to see it wasted."

"Well, then, why did he turn her down?" Frank wanted to know.

"He told me that AP English is a whole different workload," Phil replied. "And, while he did think about it, he said he wouldn't be able to get all the assignments done and still work on cases, too."

A stunned silence ensued. Frank and Fenton glanced at one another, their minds swirling as they tried to process the new information.

"I didn't agree with Joe's decision, so I went to Ms. Davis," Phil continued. "We've been meeting the past couple of months, and we think we have a solution to make everyone happy.

"This is my Christmas present to Joe, so none of you can tell him," Phil warned. "I've taken pieces and components from disabled computers and rebuilt a fully operational laptop, complete with extra memory and a built in modem. Joe can take it with him on cases, do research and reports, and then email his assignments to me. Ms. Davis came up with a syllabus that will meet the class' goals and objectives, but won't interfere too much with his casework. I put that syllabus on his hard drive. Ms. Davis also said that, as long as she receives the assignments by the end of the grading period, he can send them in late."

"Wow," Chet mumbled.

Fenton squeezed Phil's shoulder. "Thank you."

Before anyone could respond further, a nurse approached their table. "Excuse me . . . Fenton Hardy?"

"Yes?" Fenton replied.

"Your wife asked me to find you," the nurse told him. "It's about your son."

* * *

Laura was waiting for them in the waiting room, her flushed cheeks stained with tears. Fenton immediately gathered her into his arms.

"What happened?" Frank demanded, on the verge of panic.

"J-Joe's fever . . . it got so high, so fast," Laura cried. "He started having trouble breathing. Fenton, it was horrible . . . my baby . . ."

"Mr. And Mrs. Hardy?"

Joe's doctor was standing near the nurses' station, watching them. The Hardy family and friends crowded around him, anxious for news about Joe.

"Is Joe all right?" Fenton demanded.

The doctor's face was grave. "We've managed to stabilize him for now, though I had to put him in an oxygen tent to help him breathe. Let me warn you; Joe is very weak right now. I'm afraid we have to put him in complete isolation until his temperature lowers."

"We can't see him?" Frank asked.

"I'm sorry," the doctor replied.

"But he's going to get better, right?" Vanessa spoke up.

The doctor hesitated, considering his answer. "We'll keep him on antibiotics and try to regulate his temperature, but . . . we've done all we can. The rest is up to Joe now."

* * *

The mood in the waiting room was somber. Though it was past midnight, no one felt like sleeping. It was as if remaining awake were the only thing keeping Joe from succumbing to his pneumonia.

Fenton and Laura were on a couch, holding each other tightly and staring off into space. Callie sat on the other couch with an arm wrapped around Vanessa's shoulders. Her free hand was absently stroking Frank's dark hair as he leaned against her legs. Chet, Tony, and Phil were occupying various chairs, their eyes on Biff as the blond boy paced back and forth in front of them.

"I wonder if there's been any change," Chet commented, shattering the fragile silence.

"If there had been, the doctor would have told us," Tony pointed out.

"Joe's going to be okay," Vanessa stated. "He always is."

Callie sighed wearily. "How about we tell another story? It might help to pass the time."

Biff stopped pacing and sank into a chair. "Anybody got one?"

"I do," Vanessa said. She glanced at Callie. "Remember when I told you about Tara?"

"Tara the _terror_?" Phil asked as Callie nodded. "Don't tell me she and her friends are hassling you."

"Well, they were," Vanessa confirmed. "Until Joe found out."

"He must've gone ballistic," Frank said, smiling slightly.

"To say the least," Chet agreed.

"He didn't go after them himself, did he?" Laura asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Of course not," Vanessa assured her. "Actually, his reaction came as a complete surprise."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Two months ago_

Vanessa shut the door to her car and began to run to the school. She was going to be late for her first class . . . if only she hadn't lost track of time helping her mother . . .

A tall, muscular girl dressed in black from head to toe stepped in front of her. Her dyed black hair was a mess of dreadlocks, all sticking up in various directions. Jewelry glinted in the sunlight, reflecting off of bracelets, rings, necklaces, pierced ears, eyebrows, nose, and lips.

"Well, well, if it ain't my pal Vanessa," she said. "Late, aren't we?"

Vanessa pushed ash-blond hair out of her eyes. "Tara, please, I've got to get to class."

Three more girls, dressed similarly to Tara, moved closer. "What's the rush? Princess Vanessa is too busy to talk to lowly scrubs like us?"

"No, it's not like that," Vanessa protested, backing away.

"Is there a problem here?"

Joe suddenly appeared beside Vanessa and draped his arm around her shoulders. Blue eyes stared coolly at the threat to his girlfriend.

Tara scoffed. "Ain't no problem here. We're just talkin'." She jutted her chin out at Vanessa. "Later, Princess."

As the foursome slinked away, Vanessa leveled flashing gray eyes at Joe. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" Joe asked, surprised.

"Protect me," Vanessa told him. "I can handle myself. I don't need you fighting my battles for me." A pause. "But thank you. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Joe held up a math book. "Left this in the van with my homework in it. Er . . . how long has 'The Terror' been harassing you?"

"Joe," Vanessa warned as she headed for school.

"Just an innocent question," Joe said defensively, walking with her.

Vanessa sighed. "About a week now. She hasn't done anything to me, other than call me names and try to intimidate me. I can handle it."

Joe nodded, deep in thought. "It looked like it was about to get physical."

"Joe, I told you, I don't want you fighting my battles!" Vanessa exclaimed.

"I wasn't offering," Joe assured her. "Just . . . meet me at your locker after school. Okay?"

Vanessa relented, and with a quick kiss the two separated for class.

* * *

It seemed to Vanessa that Tara was following her all day long. Everywhere she went, Tara was not too far away. At one point between classes, Tara passed by Vanessa and shoved her roughly against her locker. Despite her words of that morning, she was relieved to see Joe waiting for her at the end of the day.

"Had a good day?" Joe asked as Vanessa selected the books she needed for that night.

"It was okay," Vanessa replied. She shut her locker and allowed Joe to steer her through the hall. "Where are we going?"

"In here." Joe opened a door and pulled her inside. It took Vanessa a moment to realize where she was.

"The wrestling room?" she asked doubtfully.

Joe tossed his backpack near the wall, then did the same with Vanessa's. Taking her hand, he led her to the center of the mat.

"What are you doing?" Vanessa asked, confused.

"Well, you were right this morning when you said I can't fight your battles," Joe told her. "But I can't just stand by and do nothing. I'm going to teach you some moves so you can take care of yourself."

A grin blossomed on Vanessa's face. "Really?"

Joe returned the grin. "Really. We'll meet here everyday after school until you feel confident that you can do this. Okay?"

"Does this mean I'll be able to take you on?" Vanessa asked sweetly.

Joe chuckled and took her arms. "The first thing you've got to notice . . ."

* * *

_One week later_

Vanessa berated herself silently for her stupidity. Again, she had lost track of time while helping her mother, and again she was going to be late for school. Jumping out of her car, she hit the parking lot at a run.

A hand snagged her arm and swung her around. Vanessa tore herself free and backed away from the sudden threat.

Tara grinned menacingly at Vanessa as her friends surrounded the hapless teen. "Hey there, Princess. Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, to class," Vanessa retorted. "Do you mind?"

Tara's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What's this? Princess has got an attitude. I think it needs adjusting."

Vanessa's heart raced as she quickly assessed the situation. She had spent a couple hours each night with Joe, learning how to fight. The past weekend had gone to learning some karate techniques that Joe had picked up from his brother. Now it seemed as though those lessons were about to be put to the test.

Reacting quickly, Vanessa swung her backpack at the nearest girl. It struck her solidly in the head, and she collapsed onto the ground, stunned. Spinning around, Vanessa threw her bag at a second girl, then kicked the third fully in the stomach. Within seconds, only Tara was left to fight.

"Your boyfriend ain't gonna help you now," Tara taunted.

Vanessa sneered. "He just did."

Drawing her fist back, she let it fly in a forceful right cross to Tara's face. Tara's body twisted with the impact, and she dropped like a stone.

Vanessa stared at the scene in shock, willing herself to calm down. Finally, she collected her backpack and headed into the school without another glance back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Present_

"Oh my God," Phil said. "That was _you_?"

"I heard Tara tell someone she got that black eye from a fight against a gang of twenty guys," Tony stated.

"Twenty?" Biff echoed. "I heard _fifty_."

"So _that's_ why Joe pestered me for some pointers," Frank realized. "I always wondered about that."

"What happened after that?" Callie wanted to know.

"Tara and her friends never bothered me again," Vanessa replied. "I know they still talk and all, but after that, they've left me alone. Still, Joe liked the idea of my being able to protect myself so much that he agreed to practice sparring with me every weekend."

"Sounds like a good idea." Callie leaned forward and tipped Frank's head back. "How about it?"

Frank grinned. "We'll do a double date. I'm sure we can all learn from each other."

"I think I'm beginning to find out that there's more to my youngest than meets the eye," Fenton commented. "Things I never knew about, or would know."

"I agree," Laura chimed in. "I've heard so many wonderful stories."

"So who's next?" Chet asked. "Frank?"

"Yeah, I bet Frank's got tons of dirt on Joe," Biff said. "Give us something good."

"Sorry, guys," Frank replied. "There are some things a brother's got to keep to himself."

"Give us anything," Tony coaxed. "We don't care."

Frank sighed. "I have too many to pick from. Let me think about it first."

"How about you, Callie?" Vanessa asked. "Got any good Joe stories?"

"Oh, I don't know," Callie said. "I mean, you'd think so, right? Everyone knows that Frank and Joe come as a packaged deal. You can't get one without the other. It used to drive me crazy when Frank and I first started dating."

"Why?" Chet asked.

"I'm an only child," Callie explained. "I had gotten so used to having everyone's complete attention that competing threw me for a loop. At one point I got so frustrated that Frank and I nearly broke up." She clasped Frank's hand and smiled faintly.

"What changed your mind?" Phil asked softly.

"Well, actually, Joe did," Callie replied. She grinned. "I guess I've got a Joe story after all. It's a pretty good one, too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_Three years ago_

Fourteen-year-old Joe Hardy burst into his older brother's room, a baseball cap donned backwards on his head. "C'mon, Frank! We're gonna be late!"

Frank paused in his search through his closet and frowned in confusion. "Late? Joe, what're you talking about? My date with Callie's not for another hour."

Joe's face fell. "Date? We were s'posed to go to the game today, remember? You promised!"

Frank felt his heart twist in his chest at the look of disappointment on Joe's face. "Oh, Joe, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Tomorrow; we'll spend the whole day together."

Joe pulled off his cap. "That's what today was for. 'Cause you forgot about our plans last week. Ever since you started goin' out with Callie, you've forgotten all about me."

"Joe . . ." Frank choked out.

Joe sighed. "Forget it, Frank. Have a good time. I'll see you later." He slunk out of his brother's room dejectedly.

* * *

"Frank? Frank!"

Frank jumped, startled, then looked up into Callie's brown eyes. "Oh . . . sorry, Callie. I was just thinking. What were you saying?"

Callie smiled across the table. They were at Mr. Pizza, eating an early dinner before heading out to catch a movie. "I was saying how much I'm looking forward to going to see this movie. Iola tells me it's really good."

"Yeah," Frank agreed distractedly.

Callie's brow furrowed. "Did you know that Iola stars in it as the alien ambassador from Pluto? And that Chet plays a ballerina?"

"Uh-huh," Frank mumbled.

Callie crossed her arms. "Frank Hardy, you haven't heard one word I said! What is with you?"

Frank sighed. "Sorry, Callie. I can't get Joe out of my head. When I asked you out tonight, I completely forgot I had already made plans with him."

"Joe's your brother," Callie pointed out. "He understands."

"I don't think so," Frank replied, playing with his straw. "He was pretty upset."

"He'll get over it," Callie insisted. "Cheer up, Frank. The carnival's in town this Saturday. We'll have a good time."

"I can't go," Frank told her. "I promised Joe we'd do something together this weekend to make up for canceling on him."

"You promised _me_!" Callie pouted.

"I'm sorry, but Joe's my brother," Frank protested. "I have to spend time with him, too."

"Fine." Callie gathered her sweater and purse and stood. "Since I don't have your attention tonight anyway, I'm going home. Don't bother calling unless you can find some way to have fun that doesn't involve moping about Joe."

"Callie-," Frank began, but it was too late. Callie turned and left in a huff.

"Girl problems, Frank?"

Frank eyed Tony warily as the boy slid into the booth across from him. "It's nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing," Tony commented. "Come on, give. What happened?"

"Really, Tony," Frank insisted. "I'm just having a little trouble juggling Callie and Joe."

"Oh?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Frank replied. "I've only been going out with Callie for a month, but I really like her. Only, she expects me to take her out every free night I've got. But because of that, I've been leaving Joe in the dust. The look on his face earlier . . . I feel terrible."

"Tough luck," Tony sympathized. "But, you know, Joe's always been a big part of your life. He's not going to let you go without a fight. Maybe you should talk to him. Make him understand your side of it."

"You're right," Frank conceded. "Thanks, Tony. I will."

* * *

Frank found Joe in their backyard, sitting high in one of the trees and staring up at the slowly darkening sky. The older boy came to a halt below him.

"Hey!" he called.

Joe glanced down, then returned his gaze to the sky. "What're you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with Callie?"

Frank scuffed his feet. "Joe, I feel really bad about today. And last weekend, and all those other times."

"Well, don't," Joe shot back. "I'm a big boy, Frank. I don't need you around to have fun."

Frank tried to quell the rising anger, but was only partially successful. "Look, what do you want from me? You and Callie both are trying to pull me in two different directions! When will you two learn that I care about _both_ of you?"

He turned and stomped back to the house. Joe watched him go, confused, then swung down to the ground.

Something must have happened on his date with Callie, Joe realized. He knew his levelheaded brother rarely lost his temper, especially with_ him_. Hurrying to the garage, Joe grabbed his bicycle and pedaled quickly from his house.

The ride to Callie's house took him twenty minutes. Joe parked his bike on the driveway, ran up to the front door, and rang the bell.

Callie answered. "Joe? What do you want? It's getting late."

"Sorry, but I have to ask what happened with Frank," Joe told her.

Callie stepped onto the front porch and pulled the door shut. Folding her arms, she scowled. "It's what didn't happen. Frank was so wrapped up with you that he couldn't concentrate on me."

Joe was taken aback. "_Me_? Why?"

"Something about blowing you off lately," Callie replied. "And he felt so bad that he's blowing me off this coming weekend. You know, Joe, I really like Frank. But I can't go out with someone who isn't completely with me, physically and mentally."

Joe was stunned by this news. "So . . . when he's with you, he's still mentally with me?"

Callie nodded.

Joe ran a hand through his thick blond hair. "Look, Callie, Frank's my brother, and I love him. He's always been there with me and for me. This is the first time he's ever ditched me for someone else, and I guess I wasn't expecting it. And it's not fair for Frank to have to choose between us."

"So what do you suggest?" Callie asked.

Joe shrugged. "Frank's having trouble keeping plans straight, so why don't we help him out?"

"How?" Callie wanted to know, interested.

* * *

_Next Saturday_

Bright, colorful lights twinkled down on the small group of teenagers as they made their was across the carnival. Biff and Tony were arguing over where to go next. Phil was busy counting his tickets while Iola and Chet shared a funnel cake. Frank walked between Callie and Joe, trying to get information out of them.

"Come on, what made you change your minds?" Frank demanded yet again.

Joe rolled his eyes. "What does it matter?"

"Really," Callie agreed. She slipped a hand into Frank's and winked secretly at Joe. "Who wants to go on the Spider?"

Frank slung an arm around Joe's shoulders. "Let's do it!"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Present_

"So _that's_ what happened!" Frank exclaimed.

Callie nodded. "Joe and I thought it was just easier that way. By checking with each other first before making plans, we were all able to make it work until you got used to handling the both of us. And then once Joe started dating Iola, we were able to double date."

Laura smiled. "Poor Joe. Every time Frank went to the next step, he felt so left behind. Fenton and I always tried to do special things with them separately, but they were always thinking about each other."

Frank stood and stretched. "I'm gonna go for a walk. Anyone want to come?"

The boys all agreed. Fenton stood as well. "I could do with stretching my legs. Be back in a while."

Once they had all gone, Callie turned to Laura. "I know what you mean," she said, picking up the conversation.

"What were they like when they were little?" Vanessa wanted to know.

"Pretty much like they are now," Laura answered. "Although, the lines of their personalities were very blurred. Frank was more prone to outbursts back then, and Joe wasn't quite so impetuous. It was as if they tried to be more like the other. Finally, they grew a little more independent of each other. That happened when Frank moved up to middle school."

"That must've been awful for Joe," Vanessa commented.

Laura nodded. "It was. Joe had such a hard time not seeing Frank on the playground everyday. Even though they were never in the same class, Joe always knew that Frank was close by."

"I bet the same thing happened when Frank moved up to high school," Callie observed.

Laura let out a laugh. "Joe acted like his right arm was missing. He only participated in extracurricular activities because we made him."

"Now that you mention it, Frank and Joe do seem like two halves of one person," Vanessa stated. "I mean, their interests, their strengths . . . Joe acts on feelings, Frank thinks things through."

"My boys are so different from each other that it surprises even me now and then," Laura admitted. "But I suppose that's what makes them work so well together. They complement each other."

As they were talking, Joe's doctor entered the waiting room. He approached the three women and cleared his throat to get their attention.

Laura jumped to her feet, paling. "Oh my God . . .Joe! Is he-."

The doctor held up his hands. "His condition hasn't changed."

"Oh." The older woman looked despondent.

"That's a good thing," the doctor continued. "I wanted to let you know that. His temperature isn't climbing anymore, we've managed to stave off any seizures, and he's responding to the extra oxygen we're giving him. I don't want to get your hopes up, but if this keeps up, we may be seeing a definite improvement within the next few hours."

A full-fledged grin blossomed on Laura's face. "Thank you, doctor. We'll keep our fingers crossed out here."

The others returned after a half an hour and were given the good news. Spirits were definitely higher as everyone settled back onto chairs.

"So, Frank, you got anything for us?" Biff asked.

"Yeah!" Chet exclaimed. "Just pick one thing"

"How about the first time you took Joe trick-or-treating?" Callie suggested.

"Or the time you guys camped in your backyard?" Phil added.

"Those are all good memories," Frank stated. "And I have so many, it's really hard to pick. But I don't think I told you guys about the time when one of the criminals Dad caught escaped from prison and came after us."

Callie and Vanessa gasped in horror.

"When was this?" Tony asked.

"Joe was seven, and I had just turned nine," Frank answered. "Mom was visiting Grandma in California, so Dad decided to take Joe and me on a camping trip. Well, we didn't hear about the guy escaping until it was too late."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Nine years ago_

Joe sat on the ground near the fire, scowling as he tried yet again to toast a marshmallow without it catching fire and falling into the flames. Frank didn't appear to be having any difficulties, and was already on his fourth s'more. Joe had yet to eat one.

Hands appeared on Joe's waist. The boy felt himself being lifted up and settled down again further from the fire. Joe looked up and found himself sitting on his father's lap.

Fenton was smiling as he took the stick from Joe's hands. "You look like you cold use a hand. Watch me."

Joe's brilliant blue eyes studied Fenton's movements carefully as the detective skewered two marshmallows. Taking Joe's hands, he helped his son hold the marshmallows higher above the fire than where Joe had been putting them. Just as they caught fire, Fenton pulled them out and quickly extinguished the flames.

"I think you'll find your marshmallows taste the best right when they catch fire," Fenton remarked as he used the graham crackers to pull the marshmallows off the stick. He added the chocolate bar, then handed one of the s'mores to Joe.

Joe eagerly bit into the treat. "Mmm! Thanks, Dad! These are great!"

Fenton chuckled. As soon as they finished their s'mores, Fenton helped Joe toast more marshmallows.

Night fell quickly, and soon the woods surrounding their camp were filled with the noises of the wildlife. Frank scooted closer to his father and stared into the fire, full from s'mores.

Joe set his stick aside and leaned back into Fenton's chest, contented. "Can you tell us a story, Dad?"

Fenton hugged Joe with his right arm and wrapped his left around Frank, drawing his elder son closer. "What would you like to hear?"

"A ghost story!" Joe cried.

"No!" Frank countered. "A funny story!"

"I know!" Joe exclaimed. "Tell us about one of your cases!"

"Yeah!" Frank agreed.

"Okay," Fenton said. "How about the case where I . . . found Mom's missing car keys?"

"No!" the boys cried out, laughing.

"The case when I . . . traveled to the store for milk?"

"No!"

Twigs snapping behind them caused Fenton to leap to his feet and whirl around, pushing his sons behind him protectively.

A tall, burly man emerged from the woods near their tent, clad in orange coveralls that were torn and filthy. He had shoulder-length brown hair and dull blue eyes. In his hand was a revolver, and it was pointed right at Fenton Hardy.

"How about the case where you busted me and sent me upstate for a bum rap?" the man demanded.

"Alan Dean!" Fenton barked. "You're supposed to be locked up! How did you get out?"

"Piece o' cake," Dean boasted. "Fake sick, they gotta send ya to the hospital. It's easy to bust outta medical transport."

Fenton's jaw hardened. "What happened to the medics and guard?"

Dean grinned. The evil smile sent chills down Fenton's spine. "Nothin' elaborate. They won't be makin' any more transports, though."

Behind Fenton, Joe clutched at Frank. Frank held onto his younger brother and waited for some kind of clue from their father.

"You'll get caught," Fenton averred. "They caught you once. They can do it again."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe so, but by then it'll be too late for you and your boys." He cocked the hammer back. "Say goodnight, Hardy."

Fenton swung his hand out and knocked the gun aside as it went off. He lunged at Dean, grappling with the convict for control of the weapon.

"Frank, take Joe and _run_!" Fenton ordered.

Frank grabbed Joe's hand and pulled his brother into the woods. The two boys never looked back as they crashed through the undergrowth. Branches and shrubs whipped against them, tugging at their clothes and scratching their faces.

Joe's foot caught on a root, and he stumbled. Frank anxiously tugged him to his feet.

"Come on, Joe!" he cried shrilly. "Dad said we have to run! Hurry!"

"But what about Dad?" Joe protested. "We gotta help him!"

"Dad'll be okay," Frank assured him. He wished he could believe his own words, but he was also worried. The only thing keeping him from going back to camp to help was Joe. Frank knew that, as the older brother, it was his responsibility to ensure Joe's safety. Their father was counting on him; he couldn't let Fenton down.

The sound of a single gunshot reverberated throughout the forest, causing both boys to jerk in surprise. Frank's eyes became wide, and Joe looked as if he was about to be sick.

"Dad," Frank whispered.

* * *

Fenton Hardy froze at the sound of the gunshot and raised his hands. He had managed to knock the gun away from Dean's hands and had started to run after his sons when the shot pulled him up short.

"All right, Dean," he said soothingly. "You've got me. Do what you have to do, but please leave my boys out of this."

Dean lowered his gun from the sky and pointed it at Fenton's back. "Oh, no, Hardy. That won't do. See, you sent me to prison, fine. But my little brother wasn't prison material. He never shoulda gone."

"He was involved," Fenton tried to reason with Dean. "He had to do some time. I had no choice-."

"My brother died there!" Dean shouted in fury. "You son of a bitch! He's dead, and it's all your fault!"

Hardy felt his stomach drop. His odds of talking Dean out of the gun had just worsened. Still, for his sons' sakes, he had to try. "I _am _sorry about your brother, Alan, really. But my boys shouldn't be punished. They don't know-."

"But they will," Dean cut him off, suddenly calm. "I won't kill you just yet. I'm gonna go get your boys, and I'm gonna give you the opportunity to feel how I do."

"They're just boys!" Fenton protested.

Dean brought the revolver down on Fenton's head, sending the detective into oblivion. He quickly secured the unconscious man with some packing twine he found with the camping supplies, then stole into the forest in search of his prey.

* * *

Frank pushed Joe up into a tree, then scrambled up after him. Once they reached a high branch, they stopped. Joe nestled under Frank's arm, shivering from the cool night air and from the shock of the gunshot. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd heard it, and that worried Frank.

"Hey, Joe, it'll be okay," Frank whispered. "I bet Dad's fine. He prob'ly took care of that guy and is lookin' for us right now."

Joe didn't respond. Frank sighed and hugged him closer.

They weren't sure how much time had passed when the sounds of rustling reached their ears. Frank's heart leaped in his chest, eyes scanning the foliage in anticipation. Joe only clutched at Frank and buried his face in his brother's shirt.

A flash of orange appeared before Frank could see a face. His heart sank in horror. If the bad guy was here, then their father . . .

Joe's trembling pulled Frank sharply into focus. He would worry about that later. First, he had to get Joe out of the woods and find help.

"Hey, kids!" Dean called out. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. I just want to take you back to your daddy. He's worried about you two."

Frank held his breath; was their father still alive?

Dean paused beneath their tree, eyes scanning the undergrowth. "I know you're still here. Come on out and I'll take you to him."

The escaped convict paused several moments longer, then traipsed deeper into the woods. As soon as Frank was sure he had gone, he sat up and nudged Joe.

"C'mon," Frank whispered, starting to climb down. "While he's looking for us, we can go back and help Dad."

A renewed sense of purpose seemed to bring life back into the younger boy as he scrambled down after his brother. As he reached the ground, Frank was already determining the best path to take.

"_Aha_! Gotcha!"

Dean dove through the shrubs and seized Frank's arm in a tight grip. The boy cried out in shock and tried to break free. He savagely kicked Dean in the shin, but Dean held on.

"Run, Joe!" Frank shouted. "Get out of here!"

Dean made a wild grab for Joe, but the seven-year-old was already gone.

"Dammit!" the man swore. "Oh well. Doesn't matter. One brat's plenty. Come on!"

Frank struggled as he was half-pushed, half-dragged back to their campsite. As they broke through the clearing, Frank could see his father struggling to sit up.

"Dad!" he cried.

Fenton paled when he saw his son. "Frank, are you okay?"

"Shut up!" Dean shoved Frank down onto the ground and aimed his gun at the boy. "I've waited for this moment for a long time. Say goodbye, Fenton."

"No!" Fenton bellowed.

A sudden crashing through the woods distracted Dean. Joe Hardy barreled into view, throwing rocks at Dean.

"Leave my family alone!" he shouted.

One rock connected with the side of Dean's head, drawing blood. Dean's hand flew to his head as he roared with anger.

"Come here, you little bastard!" he snarled, chasing after Joe.

"Frank, quick, untie me!" Fenton ordered. He could only watch with wide, fearful eyes as Dean chased Joe around the campsite, dodging rocks.

Remembering the gun he still carried in his hand, Dean paused and took aim. He squeezed off a couple shots, one bullet grazing Joe's leg. Joe cried out in pain and dropped to the ground, clutching at his wound. Dean approached with a triumphant grin, leveling the gun at Joe's head.

"I guess you're first," he stated. "Suits me just fine."

Fenton suddenly appeared at Dean's side, forcing the gun up as the bullet flew harmlessly into the sky. With surprise on his side, Fenton managed to rip the gun from Dean's hands, then use it to fiercely strike the convict across the face. Dean was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Despite his overwhelming desire to gather his children to him, Fenton knew he had to restrain Dean. Quickly binding him tightly with the same twine that had held him, he went to Joe's side and scooped him up into a hug.

Joe clutched at his father, his body wracked with heavy sobs. Fenton tightened his hug around Joe as he crossed the campsite to where Frank still sat, motionless in his shock. Sitting down, he drew Frank into an embrace.

"It's okay, boys, it's all right," he soothed. "It's all over."

Shifting Joe's weight onto his lap, Fenton examined the wound in Joe's leg. Fortunately, the bullet had only left behind a deep gouge in its wake. It would probably need stitches, and would undoubtedly leave a scar, but it could have been much worse.

"Boys, we're going to have to cut our camping trip a little short," he said. "Frank, can you throw our things into the tent? We'll come back for them later. Right now, I want to turn Dean over to the police and get Joe to the hospital."

Frank nodded and scurried about, carrying out his orders. Fenton carried Joe to the car and fastened him into the front seat. After checking to see how Frank was doing, Fenton manhandled Dean into the trunk. By the time the trunk was shut securely, Frank was already in the car and buckled. With a final check over his boys, Fenton turned the car on and drove away from the campsite.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Present_

"Even after all this time, he still has the scar," Frank concluded. "He won't talk about it, though."

"It was another year before we tried camping again," Fenton supplied. "And even then, Joe was so tense."

"What happened to Dean?" Phil asked.

"He was put back in prison, with some murder and attempted murder charges attached to him," Fenton replied. "About five years back, he was killed in a prison riot. The warden called to let me know."

"Did you tell Joe?" Vanessa wanted to know.

Fenton nodded. "He . . . didn't say anything, or acknowledged that he cared, but I could tell that he began to sleep a lot better at night. In fact, a month later, he actually asked to go on a camping trip again. It was as if Dean's death had freed him."

Just then, Callie bit back a yawn. Blinking, she said, "Sorry. Guess I'm a little tired."

"Me too," Chet agreed.

Laura glanced at her watch. "No wonder! It's past three in the morning!"

"Let's all try to get a little sleep," Fenton suggested. "Maybe the doctor will bring us good news in the morning."

Chairs were shuffled around, and several blankets were donated by the nursing staff. As soon as everyone found a comfortable spot, they slipped one-by-one into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Frank wasn't sure why he awoke several hours later. It was as if something was pulling him up from the depths of slumber, calling to him. Sitting up, Frank glanced around and saw that everyone else was still asleep.

Getting to his feet, Frank stretched and made his way across the room to the nurses' station. There were no nurses in sight. With a quick glance down the hall, Frank decided to find Joe. He'd spent enough time without his brother, and he needed to see him.

Luck was with Frank. No doctors or nurses appeared to stop him or ask him to return to the waiting room. Casting a final look around, Frank slipped into Joe's room.

The oxygen tent was gone. Frank guessed Joe had begun to breathe easier when they had slept. His face, though pale, seemed to have had some color return to it. Frank grasped Joe's hand with his left and laid his right hand across Joe's forehead.

"Fever's gone," he murmured. "That's a good sign."

As if responding to Frank's voice, Joe moved his head slightly and let out a faint moan.

Frank sucked in a sharp breath. "Joe?"

Joe moaned again and begun to fight the heavy currents of sleep. Frank waited in breathless anticipation as his younger brother's eyes fluttered open.

"F-Frank?" he whispered.

Frank let out a joyful laugh and wrapped his arms around Joe in a fierce hug. Joe, too weak from being sick, was unable to hug him back.

Finally, Frank pulled back and held Joe's face in his hands. "Hey, little brother. You gave us quite a scare. How you feelin'?"

"Tired." Joe lifted a hand and wrapped it lightly around Frank's wrist. "Frank? Why am I in the hospital?"

"It turned out that your 'cold' was a little more than that," Frank told him. "Mom and Dad brought you in yesterday, around lunchtime."

Joe sighed, tired. "When will they be back?"

"Back?" Frank's dark eyes shown in confusion. "Oh, Joe, they never left! We've all been here since yesterday."

"All?" Joe repeated.

"Yeah," Frank replied. "Mom and Dad, and Phil, Biff, Tony, Chet, and the girls. They're all asleep in the waiting room right now."

Joe's brow furrowed. "They are? Why?"

The sheer innocence behind the question struck a chord in Frank. As he watched his little brother's sapphire blue eyes struggle to stay open, he realized that Joe had no idea how much he meant to his friends. Even though Joe wouldn't think twice about spending the night in uncomfortable plastic chairs for any one of his friends, it never occurred to him that their friends would do the same for him.

"Because . . . they're your friends," Frank answered simply.

Joe looked as if he wanted to argue, but he wasn't going to remain awake much longer. Frank moved his free hand back up to Joe's forehead.

"Go ahead and sleep," he ordered. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Almost against his will, Joe's eyes slipped shut. "Relax, Frank. 'M okay."

Frank heard Joe's breathing even out, and he sat in the chair beside Joe. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, he gripped Joe's hand tightly.

"Thank God for that, baby brother," he muttered. "And I plan on keeping you that way."


	16. Chapter 16

**Epilogue**

_Three days later_

"Frank, will you just relax? I'm fine!"

Joe was glaring at his brother in exasperation from his nest of pillows and blankets on the couch. Since being released from the hospital that morning, his family- and Frank in particular- had gone out of their way to make sure Joe was comfortable. Joe's battle with pneumonia, though brief, had been enough to send their protective instincts into overdrive.

Frank paused on his way to the kitchen to fetch Joe a glass of water. "You sure?" he asked, dubious. "Your doctor said to stay hydrated."

Joe rolled his eyes. "I've already had three glasses of water, two of lemonade, and a mug of hot chocolate. Trust me, I'm good. Besides, the guys'll be here soon. We're just gonna chill, snack, and watch movies. Remember?"

Frank grinned ruefully. "I guess I've been overreacting a little, huh?"

"Just a little," Joe confirmed, smirking. "Er . . . can I ask you a question?"

Frank sensed his brother's seriousness and moved to sit on the coffee table across from Joe. "Sure. What's up?"

Joe hesitated, as if searching for words. "Do Mom and Dad . . . do they seem different to you?"

Frank wasn't sure how Joe meant, but he ventured a guess. "Different? Well, you were just really sick, and finding you in bed like that-."

He was cut off by Joe waving a hand. "No, not different like that. I mean . . . they're acting like they're proud of me or something. Especially Dad."

"Well, they are," Frank pointed out.

"I know that," Joe insisted. "But it's like I did something recently that made them be proud of me. Why do you think they're acting like that? I haven't done anything."

Frank studied Joe's puzzled face for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. "I think," he began, "that Mom and Dad are proud of the person you are. And, with you being sick, they had a chance to learn from our friends and each other why they are proud."

"What did you guys talk about?" Joe wondered.

Frank was saved from answering by the sound of the doorbell. He stood to answer it, but paused halfway across the room. Turning back to Joe, he said, "You know, we spend almost all of our time together, but it took you getting sick to find out what kind of person you are."

Joe gave him a dubious look. "And that is?"

Frank grinned affectionately at his younger brother. "Someone I'm really proud to call my brother."

With that, he left Joe in the room, stunned, as he went to go welcome their friends.

**THE END**


End file.
